


your hands in my wings (with trust comes healing)

by LTRisBACK



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Takes Care of Aziraphale (Good Omens), Damaged wings, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Heaven is awful, Other, Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Wing Grooming, Wing Oil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26578711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LTRisBACK/pseuds/LTRisBACK
Summary: Aziraphale has struggled to care for his wings without help for a long time.  When Crowley discovers his methods, he decides its time someone took care of his angel.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 222
Collections: comfort fics





	your hands in my wings (with trust comes healing)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VirtualCarrot (Kaoro)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaoro/gifts).



> VirtualCarrot drew another thing!!! It is BEAUTIFUL and it made me scream, so I had to do something for them. I hope you enjoy, thanks for reading! Visit the wonderful Carrot's tumblr HERE, where you can find this beautiful picture in all its glory: [Tumblr](https://virtualcarrot.tumblr.com/)

Aziraphale glanced around cautiously to double check that he was still alone. Once he was sure that he was, he leant against the edge of the open door, using it to scratch at the bare skin of his back, trying to ease the itching ache that had spread between his shoulder blades. Dressed in nothing but his pale blue boxers he scratched, hissing as he tried to angle his body to hit the right spot. 

He knew what the problem was, he was six thousand years old, not six. Actually, he was much older than that, but this particular issue was more specific to life in a corporation than not. His wings needed grooming, badly. He should probably just ask Crowley for help, but everytime he seriously considered it, the memories came pounding in. Every time he’d requested help with grooming in Heaven he’d been met with mockery and derision. The voices resounded in his head, scolding him for being overly concerned with his appearance, for being incapable of properly caring for himself, for being incompetant and ridiculous. 

Of course no other angel, not even the archangels, stayed in a corporation for long enough for it to become a problem. They could not truly understand the issues that having one's wings attached to a physical form created. While his wings might not exist on the physical plane most of the time, they were connected to a body that did and somehow that meant that they rapidly grew ragged and itchy, requiring grooming to keep them comfortable and healthy. 

While Aziraphale did his best (when he could get time alone) to groom them when they needed it, it just wasn’t physically possible for him to do it all himself. He simply could not reach large sections of his wings in order to groom them, and the best he had managed to come up with through the years was scratching them against a rough surface. He was very glad that the only time Crowley had seen his wings recently he had been thoroughly distracted by ongoing events and couldn’t take in the shamefully ragged condition they had achieved. 

He pushed harder against the corner of the door and sighed as the pressure managed to ease the ache in the muscles between his shoulderblades. 

Over the last few months Aziraphale had become quite comfortable with sharing his living space, as long as the only person he was sharing it with was Crowley. The point being that he was relaxed enough about Crowley’s presence these days that he didn’t always notice him approaching. 

“Angel?” Aziraphale jumped a foot in the air, whirling to face Crowley, guilt written all over his face. “What are you doing?” Crowley was looking at him, amused. The amused expression quickly faded as he looked Aziraphale over. “Aziraphale? What’s going on?” 

“Oh, Crowley, I didn’t hear you there,” Aziraphale attempted to school his features and keep them from betraying his embarrassment and shame. “Nothing to worry about, my dear, everything is tickety-boo.” He moved to leave the room, and Crowley shifted, lounging in the doorway, eyes flicking up and down Aziraphale’s mostly naked corporation. His position managed to block almost the entire doorway, and Aziraphale faltered back, hands fluttering. He turned away, forgetting that he didn’t want Crowley to see his back, and the furious hiss behind him quickly informed him of his error. 

“Tickety boo?” the anger in Crowley’s voice made the hair on the back of Aziraphale’s neck stand on end, but the hands that brushed between his shoulders were gentle, tender even. “What, exactly, is tickety-fucking-boo about your back being scraped to bits, Angel?” 

Aziraphale’s shoulders slumped and he seemed to shrink in on himself. He tried again, keeping his tone as light as he could. “Really, Crowley, it’s nothing to worry about, I’m quite alright.” 

Crowley’s hand brushed feather-soft over the scraped skin of Aziraphale’s back, and when he spoke again his voice had softened, a sadness seeping into it. “This is not ‘fine’, Angel. Nothing about you being hurt is fine.” He reached out and took Aziraphale’s shoulder, gently turning him, and ducked down to peer into his face. “Please, Aziraphale. Talk to me. Tell me what’s wrong.” 

Aziraphale flinched away briefly then glanced back up, scanning Crowley’s features for any hint of derision or condemnation. There were none. Realistically he knew there wouldn’t be any, but he still felt nervous about it. 

“It’s...it’s my wings,” he finally admitted, shoulders slumping. “They...need grooming and I can’t reach the worst of it.” 

“Well,” Crowley smiled a sad smile at Aziraphale. “Why didn’t you tell me? An opportunity to get my hands on those wings? I’ve only wanted to touch them since you sheltered me from the rain all those years ago.” Aziraphale felt the blush sweep up and down. He knew he must be red from at least his hairline to his collarbones. “Let me help you, Angel? Please?” 

Aziraphale almost whimpered as he gave in, nodding. 

“Ngggk. Okay, alright. Well, how about you sit up on the bed? That way the bed will help support your wings while I work, and you’ll be comfortable.” Crowley gently tugged Aziraphale over towards the bed that they shared every night, despite the angel never sleeping in it. The stack of books on his side of the bed was mute testimony to the angel’s willingness to spend time in comfort with his demon. Aziraphale reluctantly settled on top of the covers, his nerves obvious in the way he was picking at the blankets underneath him. 

Crowley moved around the bed to get behind Aziraphale, stroking a hand over his shoulders. “Okay, love, let me see,” he ordered gently, and with a sigh, Aziraphale brought his wings out into the physical plane. Crowley immediately clamped down on any kind of reaction, because he knew any he had would be bad at this point. Aziraphale’s wings were a ragged mess. The feathers were disordered, with broken shafts and misaligned barbs, and there were visible gaps where feathers must have been completely dislodged by Aziraphale’s attempts at self-grooming. 

“Oh, love,” Crowley didn’t try to keep the sadness from his voice. “How long has it been since someone helped you groom your wings?” 

Aziraphale hung his head, biting his lip, then glanced towards Crowley out of the corner of his eye. “No one ever helped me, Crowley. Oh, it didn’t stop me from asking, occasionally, when things were just too bad, but…” Gabriel’s voice rang in his ears, scolding him for asking for such a ridiculous, frivolous and prideful thing. “Angels should be without pride in all things. Appearance included. Wing grooming is ‘all very well for demons’,” he added the air quotes, as ridiculous he thought they looked, wanting to be sure that Crowley knew those weren’t his words. “I...figured out the best things I could to help myself.”

Crowley gave a low groan, the idea of Aziraphale spending six millenia in pain horrifying him. He reached out and stroked one hand through over the damaged plumage, getting a feel for the feathers. They felt rough against his fingers, and he gently smoothed some barbs down as he considered the best way to attack the problem. 

He ran a hand over the oil glands, and was glad to find his fingers came away coated in a generous amount of the warm slick substance. If the glands had been impacted this would have been much worse. He took the oil and began smoothing it over Aziraphale’s wings, loosely finger combing the feathers, dislodging loose down and a great deal of dust and debris. Aziraphale tucked his head down, embarrassed, but Crowley was having none of it. He spoke, the sound of his voice pulling Aziraphale’s gaze to his. 

“I’m so proud of you for telling me, Angel,” he said, seriously. “I know that was hard for you and I appreciate it.” He paused to loosen a particularly well-lodged clump of down from amongst the still established feathers. Aziraphale sighed with relief when that one went, and Crowley smiled sadly at him. “I’m going to make you feel so good, Angel. Your wings have never looked as good as I will make them look. I wanted to groom you that day on the Wall, make sure all your feathers were in the right place. I’ve wished I could do it for you ever since. Don’t think you’re getting out of letting me do this again, and again, and again.”

“As long as you allow me to return the favour, my dear,” Aziraphale gave a soft groan as Crowley did something to his wings that relieved an ache he had had for he didn’t know how long. 

“It would love that, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, honestly. “Thank you.” They lapsed into the comfortable silence of people who have known each other for centuries on end. Crowley reached for more oil and continued with the gentle finger combing until he was fairly sure he’d dislodged all of the debris, and that all the feathers had at least some oil on them. Then he turned his attention to detail. 

He took a single feather in a gentle grip, running his fingers from base to tip, realigning the barbs, and carefully adjusted the way the feather was lying so that it was precisely aligned. He began to work his way systematically over the topside of Aziraphale’s wings, smoothing each feather as he went, oiling them all until they gleamed. When he reached an area that was currently featherless, he took the time to oil it well, feeling the follicles to determine that there were feathers preparing to grow in. There were, and he breathed a silent sigh of relief. 

It was hours of the two of them sitting together on the bed as Crowley went over every inch of Aziraphale’s sizeable wings, rendering the angel a limply relaxed thing. He had not felt like this since his first years in his corporation, this level of comfort in every part of him. Crowley worked his way along the topside of Aziraphale’s wings, then shifted around to work on the underside. Since Aziraphale could reach the entirety of the underside of his wings, it was nothing like as bad as the back, but Crowley still worked assiduously, taking the opportunity to touch every inch of Aziraphale’s feathers. When he was finally done, Crowley sprawled out on the bed with a satisfied smirk. Propping himself up on one elbow he ran his eyes over Aziraphale’s utterly relaxed form. 

“Looking good, Angel,” he complemented, and Aziraphale gave a shyly pleased smile. “Better keep them out for a bit, let them absorb the oils. How about we go out in the garden, get some sun? It’s a beautiful day.” 

Aziraphale sighed with pleasure. “Sunbathing sounds like a wonderful plan, my dear,” he murmured, and allowed Crowley to gently tug him off the bed and through the house, going slowly enough to allow Aziraphale to carefully thread his wings amongst their possessions. They exited together into their high-walled back garden, and Aziraphale sank down to sit on the grass, admiring his wings as they all but glowed in the sunlight. 

Crowley stood beside Aziraphale for a moment, both hands resting on the leading edge of his right wing, and Aziraphale raised his face to look up at him, an expression of such peaceful trust displayed there that it took Crowley’s breath away completely. The demon leant forward, and the angel tilted his face up to meet him. A soft peck to the lips, followed by a more lingering press of forehead to forehead followed, and Crowley shifted around to sit leaning back against Aziraphale, curling into his angel’s softness. Aziraphale raised a hand and played gently with Crowley’s hair as the demon went limp with pleasure from the combined warmth of the sun and Aziraphale’s regard. 

Aziraphale revelled in the warmth of the sunlight and the grounding weight of Crowley’s somnolent form. The itches and aches that had plagued him for as long as he could remember were no more, and the joy and ease of being able to ask for help was an overwhelming feeling. Using his wings to hold him up, Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley, pressing another kiss to the crown of his demon’s head. 

“Thank you, my dear,” he murmured quietly, and Crowley tilted his head back. 

“Anything you need, love,” he whispered. “You only ever need to ask.”

  
  



End file.
